


Good Girl

by nesrynfaliq



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: F/M, NSFW, PWP, Prompt Fill, Smut, acomaf, acomaf spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-08
Updated: 2016-06-08
Packaged: 2018-07-13 00:33:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7130903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nesrynfaliq/pseuds/nesrynfaliq
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>ACOMAF Spoilers: Prompt to elaborate on the following headcanon: 'One day, Mor wakes up with Azriel's head between her legs, his lips kissing her inner thigh. That was a very good day.'</p>
<p>"He’s never been a hasty lover, and though there have been plenty of nights that have begun and passed and ended in a rough whirlwind of tongues and teeth and heat, he’s never rushed her. Somehow, he’s always carved out pieces of time that she never thought they had in that furious hurricane of need and desire that would have carried her away without complaint to worship her as he feels she deserves.<br/>The look in his eyes tells her that this lazy, indulgent morning is going to be spent entirely in worship; with him down on his knees uttering his prayers onto the soft skin of her thighs."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Girl

Good Girl 

The faint whisper of warmth brushing against the soft skin of her inner thighs is what rouses Mor from sleep that morning. The promise that lingers in that heat makes her reach out blindly until her fingers are sliding through Azriel’s dark hair – the answer to her unasked question. A sleepy smile spreads across her lips at the feel and she lets her fingers roam freely, digging in deep, letting him know she’s awake.

Her eyes flutter open a few moments later when she feels him shift in closer to her and she finds his already waiting to meet them in the place he’s eased himself into between her legs. The sight of that alone is enough to make her stomach twist in expectant delight but more than that floods through her. She swallows, trying to control her body which is already reacting to what she saw in him – the hunger that smoulders there, all for her; the red, glowing ember amidst the still, dry forest, waiting to be whipped into a ravaging inferno at the briefest murmuring of encouragement from the wind.

With a soft smile, Az gently grazes the tips of his fingers where his breath had wandered only moments before, tracing invisible lines there with guarded care, as though he’s sketching the deepest, darkest secrets of his battered soul into the material fabric of her being. That’s all it ever takes for him to slip inside her, just a touch, brushing against the heart she wears like armour, cloaking herself in that defiance, in the free, open love that they couldn’t take away from her, that they could never take away from her.

But for him, for this male who embodies her everything, her friend, her family, her lover, her partner, the Cauldron’s answer to her existence, the other side of her fire-hardened coin, the part she was never incomplete without but that brings her whole being to life in a way nothing else could. For him something deeper and stronger beats within her chest. And all he’s ever had to do to find it, to know it, to feel it, is touch her in the way he does when they’re alone together.

A shiver trembles through her nerves as each one seems to tauten in response to the feel of him, knowing what his hands and lips and teeth and tongue and body can do to hers, anticipating it; demanding it, to the point that even this faint brush of skin on skin is enough to make her sing for him; for he who knows how to play her like an instrument, knows just where to put his hands on some instinct to make her come alive for him as she has for no other.

With an idleness that suggests how much he loves toying with her he grazes his nose gently up and down her thigh, letting it get a little higher with each pass and she knows that he’s going to take his time, that he’s going to wind her up and up and up to such a pitch that she screams for him and her body begs him for it until he might be a god she’s down on her knees in front of.

He’s never been a hasty lover, and though there have been plenty of nights that have begun and passed and ended in a rough whirlwind of tongues and teeth and heat, he’s never rushed her. Somehow, he’s always carved out pieces of time that she never thought they had in that furious hurricane of need and desire that would have carried her away without complaint to worship her as he feels she deserves.

The look in his eyes tells her that this lazy, indulgent morning is going to be spent entirely in worship; with him down on his knees uttering his prayers onto the soft skin of her thighs.

The calluses that mar his burned skin from the centuries he’s spent forging himself with blade and steel scrape roughly against her but she welcomes it. Hard anchors against her supple skin that keep her grounded as pleasure quivers through her body. When he at last lets his lips brush against her the contrasting, heartbreaking softness of them nearly undoes her alone.

Azriel peppers steady kisses up and down her skin, light and fleeting as paper thin wings beating against her but it’s enough. It’s more than enough to hollow out her chest to make room for her expanding lungs as her heart begins to beat a little faster for him. Slowly, so slowly, he eases up the thin scrap of silk she sleeps in, pushing it up around her hips to grant him better access to the naked flesh beneath, her undergarments already peeled away to reveal her to him.

Leaning back into her pillows she closes her eyes again, wanting only to feel him as he begins to place those kisses higher and higher and higher until- With a soft whine her spine arches and her hands grasp thick fistfuls of the soft, downy white sheets that wreathe her, tangled around her like the sprawling roots of a tree and she uses them to anchor herself to  _something_  as feeling ripples through her.

The kisses he presses against her centre begin soft and lazy, letting her wake up, not wanting to overwhelm her. He could, he could so easily inspire so much in her at once that she would splinter from the feel of it, that she would split along every seam and undo herself for him until she had wrecked herself and her pieces were scattered at his feet. But he’s never wanted that; never wanted to destroy her or shatter her – only ever to unmake her for the hours she spends like this, entirely his, surrendering every part of herself to him, letting him pick it slowly apart then bind her together with a few new pieces of him now woven into her being.

His mouth is hot and hungry, a starving wolf before a feast, and she feels that in him as he presses it between her thighs and lets go of another shred of that self-control that kept him from her for five hundred years and now keeps him from unleashing himself on her entirely in a way that would consume them both. One day she’ll want that from him, one day she’ll want to wrap her arms around him and she’ll want them to burn and burn and give each other everything until they fuse themselves together and remain forever in the ashes they would make of each other. But today...Today she only wants this – and he gives it to her.

When his tongue begins to stroke her at last she moans. Her hips buck from the sheets and she snarls her impatience when he pushes her back down into her place, refusing to let her take charge and demand more from him than he’s willing to give in this moment. One hand grips her waist while the other resumes its gentle wandering along her inner thighs, offering her a different sort of pleasure, anticipation joining the ecstasy that blazes from where his body connects with hers.

“ _Azriel_ ,” she urges, her eyes snapping shut as every inch of her trembles for him. But it makes no difference. He would offer her the world on a string if she asked him with that voice, in that way but in this she is his, she belongs to his touch, to his lips, to his heat and nothing will ever persuade him to give him more than he wants to.

 

His rhythm remains steady and controlled, licking and sucking with such a deliberate slowness that she knows he relishes this, relishes every breathless moment that she begs him for  _more_  and instead he gives her just enough. Just enough to make her surrender herself to him and the way he makes her feel but nowhere near enough to finish her, not yet, not until he’s ready.

 

“ _Az,”_ she groans and there’s no plea lacing his name this time, only pleasure, only praise for what he’s doing to her and he responds by making his kisses a little harder and his pace a little faster with a faint growl of satisfaction.

Just as she begins to settle into this new rhythm and sink into the soft pleasure that pulses through her in waves, the rough yet gentle finger that was meandering along her inner thigh eases up inside her and a cracked cry is torn from her throat as her body once again arches up into him and this time he lets it.

With a soft snarl of approval he at last gives in to her and gives her everything. His mouth and teeth and tongue on her, his fingers pulsing in and out of her in a quick, rough rhythm that’s designed to strip away whatever lingering self-control she was managing to cling on to and it does.

 There isn’t enough breath in her lungs; isn’t enough air in the room; isn’t enough for her to curse at him and praise him and beg him not to stop the way she wants to. She can only moan and pray that the wordless, incoherent cries are enough for him because she needs this. She needs him. She needs everything. And he knows, knows that if he stopped now it would break something in her.

But he only smiles against her and with one final stroke shoves her over the edge into the beckoning oblivion she was calling out for. Pleasure blazes through her like fire roaring across a lake of oil, seizing every part of her and consuming it as her spine arcs again, lightning shot through her bones as she finally manages to gasp out his name again.

Breathing turning ragged as she slumps down onto the bed, her eyes closed; one arm slung across them while her whole body shudders with the aftershocks of her climax. Her hand buries itself in his hair, tangling and pulling and urging. _More_. She wants more. She’s not done yet, not ready for him to be done. She wants his hands on every part of her skin at once. She wants his lips on hers and on her breasts and between her thighs again all at once. She wants him inside her, she wants their bodies joined, she wants to feel him surrounding her, smothering every sense as he fills it with him and blocks out everything else. She wants  _more._

And he obliges her.

His lips had been lazily mouthing against her thighs again as he watched her climax for him but at that pull on his hair he tucks his wings in tight to him and nudges his mouth between her thighs once more. The moment his tongue finds its way onto her again she shudders – so badly that he pauses until she snarls and yanks at his hair again and then he growls back at her and lets go of himself entirely.

Every bit of self-control, every bit of restraint snaps for her and it’s all too much. She can’t breathe. She can’t think. She can’t move. She can only feel. The heat that pounds between her legs. The pleasure that rattles through her. The way his body seems to know, instinctively, just what she needs and he fills every demand before she can find the breath to make it.

And him. Every piece of him, every raw aching part of him. His hands on her skin, gliding over every inch of her as though her skin is polished marble beneath his oil-slick touch. His heat as he moves in closer, his wings flaring to shield her from the world beyond him. There is only him. Only his tongue and the way it makes her lose control. Only his hunger, his desire for her that she can feel burning from him. Only those deep hazel eyes that consume her as they ravage her sweat soaked body. Only the pounding thunder of his heart that hammers in time with hers.

Only him. Only them. Only this.

“Az,” she pants, “Az, Az, I, I want- I want-“ she can’t breathe, can’t speak, the words a tangled jumble as she manages to get out, “Inside me, I want it- I-  _please_ -“

He eases his fingers up into her again and though she chokes on the pleasure that tears through her at the feel she shakes her head and pulls on his hair again to make him stop, to make him listen, “You,” she rasps to him, “I need _you_. Please.”

He presses his lips gently against her thighs once again to quieten her then trails kisses slowly up her body, her navel, her stomach, her chest, pausing for only a moment to lightly bite at her peaked nipples before he kisses her lips. She can taste herself on his tongue right alongside the hunger that burns through him for her as he holds himself over her, pausing, giving them just a second to linger on this precipice together.

 His eyes are filled with such tenderness that the world stills for a moment, her racing heart calms itself and the fire that burns in her simmers down to embers to let them have this. His hand cups her cheek and she covers it with her own, her fingers shaking and squeezing as she nods to him.

He never breaks eye contact with her as he thrusts himself inside her in one swift, fluid motion and she sees everything in that gaze. The pleasure at their joining, the satisfaction of knowing how much she wants him, the love that blazes between them, melding and thickening and solidifying into the bond that connects them in the blackness their souls are mired in; the faint, flickering light that will always lead them out of that pitch darkness and let them find their way home to each other.

If death came for her now to finally stake his claim on her immortal being she might welcome him. She might welcome dying with his name on her lips, dragged from her in each stolen breath. She might welcome dying if it was the cost of knowing this happiness she’s found with him. She might welcome dying if it came on the end of her shuddering release; numb to the cruelties this world has dealt her, wrapped only in him, her love, her partner, her mate.

She might welcome trading in this eternity for the next if it meant she would exist forever in this moment with him where she would only know the safety of his embrace, the warmth of his touch, the tenderness of his kiss, the pleasure of being with him

But she doesn’t die. As he begins to move within her, his fingers sliding slowly through her hair she  _lives_. She feels every breath, every heartbeat and though her immortality promises an eternity of them each one spent with him feels precious. She feels finite and small and with him she understands that mortal need to seize hold of every moment and drain everything from it, to play out each second as though it’s the last one the world will grant. She feels alive with him and that energy crackles through her bones and sparks a warm light that blooms in her soul and calls to him, leading him into this eternity right along with her.

Azriel flares his wings, spreading them out over the two of them, sheltering them from anything that isn’t the heat between their skin; the breathy moans that mingle with the rough gasps in the fraction of space that separates their lips; the pleasure that radiates from the place where their joined, cocooning them together in this moment they’ve crafted from their sweat and want and love.

He presses his brow against hers as he thrusts himself into her, connecting them, his fingers easing lovingly through her hair. “Good girl,” he purrs softly, his voice rumbling deep in his chest and vibrating through her too, “Good girl,” she whines at the praise, at the lust that gilds his words as he whispers once more, pressing the words into her skin, “Good girl,” and she shudders at the need there, the desperation, the urgency only she ever inspires in him, the way only she can make him lose himself like this. 

 His rhythm is controlled and smooth but hard and fast and intense as he pounds into her and she welcomes it all. Her lips part in a soundless cry and he kisses her, his tongue pressing into her mouth. She wraps her arms around her, nails dragging across his wings and he snarls and arches into her, slamming in deep and finding a spot that makes her scream his name, her body mirroring the curve of his, their hips crashing together in breathless ecstasy.

Every movement is a step in a dance that’s been done since the dawn of this world and neither misses a beat. They move in perfect sync with one another, their bodies rising and falling and flowing together like a tide, relentless and starving as instinct drives them on, pushing each other to the limit.

He moans at the feel of being inside her, at what she’s doing to him and the sound of it snaps the last tethers she had to the world. She surrenders herself completely to him, closing her eyes and melting against him, letting him take what he wants, offering up it all, everything she has, everything she is, everything she was, everything she might become in the aching rightness she finds when she’s in his arms.

“Morrigan,” he whispers softly to her, his breath hot against her lips, “Morrigan,” the way his tongue bends around her name makes her shiver at what it cloaks her in, the tender love she’d know he felt for her even with death between them, “ _Morrigan.”_

“Azriel,” she breathes as she clings to him.

The word she’d whisper until whatever gods there were knew it and worshipped it as she did, the word she’ll say each day in the centuries to come with them and never grow tired of the way it feels in her mouth, the taste of it, the warmth that flares inside her at it, the word she’d find a way to summon with her dying breath to help him find her in the darkness.

The word she cries out now as pleasure flares in her and she knows she’s close, so close, “ _Azriel.”_

His lips tangle with hers as he slides his fingers between her legs again, giving her what she needs and she moans into his mouth in desperation. Stroking back her hair as he presses their foreheads together once more and growls, his voice low and layered with midnight promise, “Come.” He orders her as he moves within her, “Come for me, Mor,” he whispers and he kisses her neck and rasps against it, breathless with need, “Come for me.”

She does.

Her climax hits her in her next breath and he follows her, gently tugging at her hair and groaning as he shatters inside her and feels her shatter along with him, moaning out his name as he buries his lips against her neck, lips mouthing in soundless ecstasy against her skin as she gently rolls her hips against him, coaxing them through the last few waves pleasure that ripple through their bodies.

He settles himself down beside her afterwards, panting hard, one wing still arched over her, drawing her in to him and making her giggle as it nudges her even closer again, their bodies pressed flush together as they gasp for breath. Reaching out she blindly kisses him, their lips meeting in a lazy, indulgent tangle full of teeth and tongues and tenderness.

“Morning,” he growls against her lips, softly rubbing noses with her.

She laughs against his lips and kisses him again, softly stroking his hair before she murmurs, “Morning,” back to him with a quiet, almost shy smile as she nestles in against him, his scarred hands roaming idly up and down her back, just wanting to keep touching her, keep them connected for as long as he can.

Wrapping her arms around him she settles herself on top of him. He waits until she’s comfortable before he secures his arms around her, “I hope we don’t have anything pressing to attend to today,” she mumbles, a soft smirk tugging at her lips, “I’m not getting out of this bed unless something attacks us.”

He huffs out a soft laugh at that which ruffles through her hair, “Does Rhys count?” he asks mildly, his fingers tracing a line up and down between the valley of her shoulder blades, smiling when she shivers.

“Definitely not,” Mor snorts and Az laughs softly again.

“He is our High Lord,” he reminds her, fighting to hide his smile as she cracks open an eye and peers up at him.

“And he knows better than to try and get me out of bed before I’m good and ready,” she huffs, burrowing in against him, “Don’t worry,” she tells him, the corner’s of her lips twitching, “I’ll protect you if it comes to it.”

Lightly kissing the top of her head he murmurs quietly, “And I you.”

Grinning she rises up to kiss his lips again, deep and slow this time, “Then he doesn’t stand a chance,” she growls flatly and ostentatiously makes herself comfortable again on top of him as though that settles the matter.

Smiling, Azriel nuzzles gently at the top of her head, nose buried in her hair, the familiar cherry scent filling his lungs as he breathes her in. Rhys doesn’t come for them that morning and they lie together until well into the afternoon, savouring the quiet calm that’s swept them away, indulging in nothing more strenuous than a few lazy kisses and murmured words.

Mor feels safe and loved and calm in his embrace. The last few months, the horrors they witnessed and endured might never have happened. His presence here alone with her chases away the ghosts that stalk on the edges of her consciousness, wash her hands clean of the blood that stains them and allows her to forget, if only for a little while, the violent, bloody birth of this new world of theirs, one she’s at last proud to call her own.

****

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! bit more graphic than I've done before, feedback would be much appreciated if you have a moment! :)


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